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Louis heaved, his sword resting heavy in his hands. His energy was sapped and his patience was exhausted.
The human, a hulking beast of immense size and strength, a creature of such terror many thought them to be only myth and hearsay, lie felled before him.
The last of several, as one round trip made better than several smaller trips. Regardless, the lack of places to set camp for the night along the way meant the best option was to plow their way through their targets.
While defeating a single human was a tremendous feat, defeating four in a row was an accomplishment only Lord Louis Guiabern, human slayer, could aspire to.
He'd grown stronger from the endeavor, his mind and body sharpened by the experience, but that was not without consequence. Several in his expedition had sustained injuries, be them minor, and despite the small size of the party all aside from Louis found themselves inflicted with ailments.
"Bloody hell that was cold!" Basilio complained, brushing lingering shards of ice out of his tail. He'd heaved his brother, inflicted with a lingering case of sleep, over his shoulder with little grace.
They'd managed to treat Basilio and Zorba, but they'd ran clean out when it came to the least pressing of the three. Worst case scenario, he'd have already slept it off by the time they made it back to their base of operations.
The group loaded the proof of their efforts onto the runner, finally free from hunting down such wretched beasts, and boarded. Their gauntlet runner was far from meager yet just as far from extravagant, a reasonable vessel for reasonable means.
It was a gift as a show of support, a bargaining chip for the sake of renown.
Once all was accounted for, they tucked Fidelio away and settled into their own spots around the runner. The quarters were generous, and the common space was amenable.
Louis was tired.
Louis was exhausted, even.
While the others had taken breaks here and there, Louis was stronger than that. Louis was a symbol of utopia, of his perfect world. He had fought his way through each of the humans, and had earned all the acclaim that came with it.
But that glory came with the consequence of heavy exhaustion, as well as an odd sort of headache he can't quite shake off.
He'd abandoned his caplet in hopes that freeing up the weight off his shoulders might alleviate him somewhat, but it only made his lack of energy more apparent.
He could barely keep his eyes open, and was about ready to collapse at any moment. Far from ideal, as such vulnerability left him open for a stab in the back. It was a reasonable move to make when he was in such a state.
Zorba had taken space further from the others, had burrowed himself in another of the stacks of magic text books he regularly poured over.
The plush bench next to him was likely warm.
Zorba himself was likely warmer.
Louis truly didn't care, but his exhaustion demanded rest somewhere safe.
And Zorba was right there…
Louis sat himself next to Zorba, scooted himself close until they were pressed up against each other.
"I- Louis?" Zorba sputtered, his attention leaping out of his book in surprise.
Louis mumbled in response, his arm looping around Zorba's, his hand resting on Zorba's wrist. With his head on Zorba's shoulder, he found himself more comfortable than he had been in years.
Despite Zorba's tense frame, Louis was right to assume he was warm. He fit Louis' purposes well.
Words bubbled at the back of Louis' mind, strung themselves together not of his own accord, sickening nothings of little worth nor truth.
Interloper thoughts strung by a parasite gorging itself on the back of his mind.
Louis bit his own tongue, hard. He forced the words down until the urge subsided.
His exhaustion only made the battle a greater effort, but he'd rather not speak words he wouldn't mean.
Louis shifted, turning himself perpendicular to Zorba, and wrapped his arms around Zorba's torso. His hand found itself entwined with purple rivers of hair, twirling strands between his fingers.
His eyes had almost drifted shut, but despite the safety of Zorba's presence, here and now was far from an ideal place to allow himself rest.
He turned, reading Zorba's book from his perch on his shoulder.
It was interesting, the thoughts reasonably complex for someone of Zorba's caliber, but his exhaustion made it hard for the information to stick in Louis' mind.
The way Zorba's hands held the page however, had caught his attention. Soft hands thumbing the paper, careful not to crease. It was clear the care he put into not only the book itself, but into everything he did. He had always been someone Louis could rely on.
Words once again bubbled behind his lips, crawled along his tongue.
It was foolish, empty drivel that meant nothing.
Louis buried his face in Zorba's shoulder, his hair smelling faintly of lavender.
His head was spinning, and the myriad of wrongs fighting to spill out of his mouth was only making his exhaustion worse.
However… Zorba seemed to make the feeling subside, If just faintly.
Louis adjusted himself once more, moving his legs across Zorba's lap. His head slid, his face peering behind Zorba, who remained rigidly tense.
It was almost overwhelming how warm Zorba was, how inviting, how comforting. There was no one in this country Louis could trust, but there was one he could rely on.
His hold around Zorba tightened as a panic rose in his gut and weighed in his throat.
Louis Guiabern needs no one, relies on no one, his strength is all his own.
But if he lets go, will Zorba let go as well?
Louis clenched his jaw, bile rising in his throat.
How weak of him.
Something was eating away at his mind, forcing pitiful lies through his head and drivel out of his mouth.
Nails dug into fabric, knuckles whitened.
"Lou- Lord Louis… do you have your gloves on?"
Louis peered down, staring at the hands which held the back of Zorba's shirt with a vice. Apparently he lost his right glove at some point, as it lay abandoned on the floor behind Zorba.
Louis should care, and by all means a caution buzzed in the back of his mind.
But something else, something sickening and soft, overpowered such a thing. Instead of much of a reaction, he closed his eyes and breathed Zorba in. His ungloved hand lazily tracing spirals into his back.
Louis is exhausted, and Zorba is safe, and Louis is entirely normal.
They remained like that for an uncertain length of time, Louis drifting in and out of consciousness making it hard to tell.
He'd gotten far too comfortable, but something just behind his eyes made it hard to remember why. He could feel himself being dragged around within his own mind, he was full of thoughts and urges and words that were nothing more than lies and delusions.
Louis Guiabern wanted for no one.
When the shaking of the runner came to a crawl, Louis could only assume they were stopping somewhere. He could remember something about a small town en route, but nothing beyond that made it past the fuzz clogging his mind.
"Lord Louis, we made it to that village yeah? Thought we might-"
Louis' eyes crawled to meet the intruder, finding nothing but disdain for being interrupted in such a way.
Basilio turned to look at Louis, something akin to unease painting his features. His eyes quickly darting to meet Zorba's instead.
Foolish.
Was he here for Zorba? To take Zorba away? To take him and mistreat him and disregard him and belittle him and take him.
Zorba was his blade, he was the one who refined him, polished him, made him into something he could believe in.
A blade belonged to it's scabbard, and it's scabbard alone.
Zorba was his blade.
His to wield, his to find pride in, his and exclusively his to hold.
Words he could never take back bubbled and steamed in the seat of his jaw, and on impulse, he bit Zorba's shoulder to stomach it.
Hard.
Zorba shuddered, a shock running through his spine, and tensed even further. Yet he did nothing to shake Louis off.
Louis could do as he pleased with his property. His blade.
Louis clung tighter, nails digging into Zorba's back. His eyes burned and bile rose to take the place of such disgusting words.
"I- uh. I'll get that for you two, Zorba."
Louis could feel Zorba nod as the intruder fled, pace fast and tail between his legs.
He relaxed in turn. No one was coming. No one's greed would take from him.
Louis yawned, a long and relaxing sort of thing.
His head felt loose, but his limbs felt looser.
He rose on uncertain legs, untangled himself from Zorba, and grabbed the necromancer by the wrist.
Zorba acquiesced easily, did as Louis wanted without hassle.
If Louis was a weaker man, he'd find it flattering.
He dragged Zorba across the runner, steps unsteady, yet mind sharp as ever and determined at that.
As sharp and clear as ever.
Louis' fingers slipped, intertwining with Zorba's.
Zorba followed, even climbed the ladder as Louis prompted him to.
The upper floor of the runner didn't have much of importance. Bunks, an upper deck, and a small office for Louis' purposes.
Louis walked in and Zorba trailed, lured right into Louis' trap.
Louis closed the door behind them.
He walked to his desk, to the plush armchair bolted to the floor, and sat. He could feel whatever remaining tension he had left begin to loosen.
Drowning in such comfort, all he needed was something to keep him o so warm.
He raised his arms and beckoned Zorba over to him.
It wasn't that he desired Zorba, perish the thought, he merely needed something to keep him safe and warm in his exhausted state.
Zorba approached, perfectly obedient as always. Wrapped around Louis' finger, perfectly trained.
Louis grabbed him from behind, pulled him down and wrapped his arms back around his middle.
Zorba now lay across his lap, seemingly less stiff than before. Louis proceeded to lay his torso atop Zorba's, turning his lower half diagonal across the chair and curled up beneath Zorba's legs. His arms tightened around Zorba like a vice, keeping him trapped there with him.
Louis breathed, slow and deep, arms around Zorba crawling higher and grabbing tightly to the loose fabric of his shirt.
At some point he must have lost his other glove, as he could feel the thin fabric of Zorba's shirt clench in both of his bare hands.
He tightened, holding Zorba even closer and burying himself in all he could. Due to essentially sitting atop him, Zorba provided not only the warmth Louis seeked, but a pressure that forced himself to relax further.
Louis' eyes drifted closed, and the rocking of the runner's steadfast march returning to motion lulled him to a proper sleep.
It would be foolish to allow himself such a trivial thing, to leave himself stuck defenseless when potential enemies are always lurking.
But he wasn't defenseless. He had Zorba, and Zorba was different.
Zorba was warm, loyal, dedicated, pretty, smart. He could do anything if Louis only ask.
Louis was the only one who could see that.
Louis was the only one who could appreciate that.
Louis was therefore the only one who deserved it all.
All of Zorba's strength.
All of Zorba's potential.
All of Zorba.
Zorba was his blade. He was the one who sharpened and polished him with time, built him up from nothing.
Someone so sharp, so strong, so perfect.
Louis loosened, his hands' grasp on Zorba's shirt slipping from his body, weighing heavier on the other boy.
Zorba's hands, somewhat skittish, carefully rested on Louis' back. Said hand supported him, helped Louis stay stationary against the constant shaking.
Louis breathed gently, slept gently, existed in a state of peace.
He was warm.
Zorba was warm.
Louis liked that.
Louis liked a lot of things about Zorba.
The fierce loyalty he showed only to Louis.
The dedication he had not only to Louis but to his ideals as well.
The unwavering passion he had not only for necromancy, but for magic itself.
The way Zorba's features softened when Louis entered the room.
The way Zorba's warmest smiles were a treasure just for him.
Zorba truly was something special… Louis couldn't stop himself from holding on to the thought.
Louis blinked back to the world, the soft cotton behind his eyes still clinging to his mind.
It was bright, some sort of orange peeking through the windows.
Louis scrunched up, buried his face in Zorba's chest and pulled his arms into himself.
Zorba was saying… something, and was talking to someone.
Louis couldn't parse it all, it merely slipped out of his mind like water.
Suddenly, however, Zorba's soft and delicate hands were pushing him up from atop him. positioned them so that Zorba was sitting in Louis' lap instead.
Louis' body was loose, liquid, he didn't like being torn away from Zorba's warmth. In response, Zorba gently yet firmly held Louis by the jaw, forcing him upright.
Zorba spoke with a voice like church bells, and handed Louis a small vial with a pink translucent liquid within.
Louis held it.
He swished the liquid in the vial.
He continued to hold it, cogs in his head getting caught on the fluff inside.
Zorba sighed.
Slender fingers on the soft hand holding Louis by the face squeezed ever so slightly. The warmth was like rays of the sun had chosen him specifically to shine upon, who could blame Louis for leaning into such warmth?
Zorba chuckled softly.
Another hand, soft and perfect, gently removed the vial from his grasp. He lifted it to Louis' squished mouth and poured it down ever so parted lips.
He couldn't remember ever being so dependent.
So weak.
So needy.
And yet he was still the one being served.
Served by Zorba in all that he is, all that is Louis' blade.
All of his strength.
All of his potential.
All of himself.
Zorba was undoubtedly his.
Louis swallowed the liquid, but a small drop spilled down his chin.
Zorba gently wiped it with his thumb, bringing it to his own face and licking the remains.
Upon Zorba releasing his grasp on Louis, his lack of energy betrayed him and he fell into the other boy's warm embrace.
If he could, he'd choose to stay here forever.
Instead, Zorba helped him up and out of the chair. Aided Louis in sliding his gloves back on, even guided him off the stationary gauntlet runner.
Helped him shamble through dark halls, held him close and warm, stable and gentle.
Zorba set Louis on plush blanket and soft mattress.
Louis needed sleep, badly.
And yet.
"Can… can you-"
Zorba turned, facing Louis and seemingly reading his intent in merely his eyes.
Gentle hands drifted along his sides, loosened his breastplate free, then repeated the same for the igniter around his neck.
Perfectly put away by slender hands and a brilliant mind.
He then helped him get ready to sleep, lent him night clothes and allowed him to get changed.
Zorba was once again headed to the door, but Louis just couldn't let him go.
He couldn't stop himself from letting out a soft sound.
Zorba immediately turned in response, the look on his face akin to someone who just kicked a puppy.
He hesitated for just a moment.
A horrible horrible moment, before abandoning Louis as he left for the hall outside.
Louis was cold without Zorba.
He'd spent so long in that warmth, he didn't know what to do without it.
Without him.
His arsenal was lacking without it's finest blade.
Louis flopped to his side, the mattress and blankets beneath him warm and soft. Shifting his head, he found the faint smell of lavender clinging to the fabric.
He curled in, pulling the fabric of his shirt to his face.
It wasn't perfect, but he could feel a faint warmth in it.
Something akin to the warmth he craved so desperately.
Zorba returned, caplet in hand, and carefully placed it beside Louis' clothes.
The room practically rose in temperature just at his presence.
Zorba took to his routine, Louis watching as he cleaned himself. Watched deft hands unbutton his shirt, cuffs, then corset. Watched him dispose of it as he retrieved something proper for sleeping in.
Watched him remove his trousers, fold them neatly alongside the other discarded clothes.
Louis was enthralled, watching as Zorba went about his routines as if no one else was there. Watched him change and tidy up and prepare his blankets.
Zorba, finished with his routine, approached Louis.
He pulled the blankets up and over Louis' shoulder, tucking him into the bed.
Zorba, however, did not join Louis in such warmth, in such comfort.
Instead, he made his way to the chair at his desk, worn and wooden.
Louis rose, pushing himself up off the mattress in protest. How could he abandon Louis like this? To such a distant imitation of the warmth he held o so dearly?
Zorba turned, shocked at the sudden movement.
When they locked eyes however, Zorba seemed to understand. A sort of fondness had crept into his stare.
With a small sigh, Zorba returned to Louis' side. At his Lord's behest, he laid alongside him.
Louis took no hesitation in greedily taking as much of that warmth as he could, resting his head on Zorba's stomach and wrapping his arms underneath his torso.
He clung to Zorba tightly, determined not to let him go ever again.
Warmth enveloping them both, Louis finally got his well needed rest.
It was sound, warm, gentle.
Undoubtedly the best he'd slept in years.
He could feel his mind clear itself of the lingering fog, an ache lifting as he drifted off.
Bright sunlight poured through the window as Louis blinked awake. It couldn't be any earlier than noon.
He'd slept through most of the day… weak.
Looking down, he found what he had been so enamored in while in such an altered state.
Zorba lay sprawled beneath him, his shirt ridden up as clearly Louis had been resting his head on the skin of Zorba's stomach.
Foolish vulnerability from them both.
He peered across the room, his sword glinting by his clothes.
He could always cleave his own head off.
It would free him from the consequences of the actions he didn't make… he'd never have to explain anything to Zorba… He definitely couldn't get caught in such a compromising position.
What would become of him? Of Count Louis Guiabern, the man destined to shape this country anew?
Deciding against spontaneous suicide, he instead carefully crept out of the bed, returning the blankets atop Zorba and changing back into his clothes.
"Now where did he go, he can't just choose to leave on a whim!" a voice cried from the other side of the door.
"Oh calm down, Fidelio!" Another voice chimed in. "I'm sure he's around here sooomewhere"
"He better be!" The first voice, Fidelio, complained as he got quieter.
Louis could not get out of there faster.
"…He's gone, you're free to leave, love" The voice whispered, then click tapped it's way down the hall.
Louis waited a beat, then quickly made his way down the other direction of the hall.
He was a man of power, untouchable in mind and body.
He was Louis Guiabern, and he wanted for no one, even as he felt a warmth fade as he got further from the bedroom closest to his.